Babbling, Bubbling
by twostrandsofmelody
Summary: A pre-canon look at Nick Cutler, suffering blood addict and desperate to be liked. Can a woman named Grace, bring him his saving grace? Or will she end up a bloody reminder of his failings?


She walked into the pub, almost at the same time as the man that sat down at the bar close to her. She pulled out her iPhone, clicking the foursquare App and checking in. She was just about to put it away when it vibrated, telling her another foursquare user had checked in at the same pub. She looked up, glancing to her left where he was sitting - phone in hand and smiling a little embarrassed smile at her.

"Hi - I'm Cutler, er, Nick Cutler."

"Grace Hinley." She smiled, offering her hand in a kindly gesture, he seemed a little unsure but shook it never the less.

"You look nice." He smiled broadly, again with the awkward and embarrassed demeanor.

Grace laughed, feeling her cheeks heating, "Thanks. I like your hair." It was true, the guy had a great head of hair.

He ran a hand through the poofy, sort-of wild, hair on his head. "You think? I thought most people hated it."

"Well they're foolish then." She waved for the bartender, ordering a Guinness.

"I'll pay for that." Nick offered, laying a couple quid down on the counter and ordering himself a glass of wine.

"Well, that's awfully nice of you." Grace felt the hot blush spread across her skin. She hated the Irish blood. The pale skin, the freckles, the full body blushes. "I think we might have ordered opposite orders of what most people would think."

The bartender brought them their orders, leaving them alone at the bar. "I've never seen you in here before." Nick smiled, he always came into this pub.

"Yes, well, my ex works at my old haunt so I tend to avoid it now." She laughed, shifting a little uncomfortably. "So I was trying this place out tonight. I like the atmosphere."

Nick nodded, unsure of what to say. He started to speak but decided what he was going to say was daft, so he just shut his mouth before she thought he was gaping.

"So what do you do?"

"I'm a solicitor." The word sounded strange rolling off his tongue and he quickly took a sip of wine before he felt anymore awkward.

"That's a pretty profitable occupation." Grace laughed, taking a long sip of her Guinness and smiling at him.

"What do you do?" Cutler asked, looking a little too anxious to hear her answer. He'd only looked at her throat a few times, trying not to let her notice his glances.

"I work at a museum." She turned to look at his face, most guys looked at her funny when she said museum. But not him, he looked intrigued.

"That sounds fun." He sounded excited about, like that tiny bit of information about her meant the world to him. She couldn't help but laugh at his enthusiasm.

There were a million things she could say that would be disparaging, but something about Cutler, intrigued her and she didn't want to shoot him down. She'd been single for almost a month, she wouldn't mind just hooking up with some cute guy from a pub. Especially one with that head of hair.

"I like it. It was sort of my dream job my whole life. It might not be the British Museum, but maybe one day."

"What do you do?"

"I work with collections management. I make decisions on items that might come to the museum, loans, purchases, stuff like that." She smiled a little broader, drinking another sip of her Guinness. "So are you a local? You don't have that Welsh twang."

"I was from Liverpool." He smiled, wondering faintly if she meant his slight lisp. People mocked him for that lisp - few found it endearing.

"Ah, I wasn't exactly sure where the accent was from but it's nice."

He resisted the urge to say _really_ again, she seemed to be the Queen of Flattery and it was a nice change to women shooting him down like a fly. Everyone treated him like something to swat away. He hated it, he wanted to be noticed, to be liked. No one liked him. He sipped his wine, "Thank you. You don't sound like a native either."

"Born in Ireland to an Irish father and an American mother, raised in America for about twelve years, then moved back up to Dublin to care for my Gran. We just never moved back to America. Not that I'm complaining." She laughed a little briskly, sipping her Guinness. "Now, Nick Cutler, tell me this - do you have a girlfriend?"

"No." He laughed, controlling the maniacal tone - no one wanted him like that.

"Good, because the last time someone hit on me his girlfriend came out of the loo in a few minutes." She frowned a little, looking into the dark beer. She looked back up and smiled at him, "Just checking."

"Well that's criminal, but I can see why he'd chat you up." He grinned, a little too over-zealously, but she laughed off his enthusiasm. "I'm sorry, I must seem like a bumbling fool."

"It's endearing. My last interest was a bit of an arrogant prick." She shrugged, taking a longer sip. "How do you mind going outside for a smoke with me?" She'd barely finished the sentence before he was on his feet with his wine in his hand and a lopsided grin.

"I'd love to."

They stepped outside the pub, standing in the little alleyway between the pub and the department store next to it. Grace sat her beer down on the little ledge, pulling out a ciggie and lighting it, offering him his own one. "I don't typically smoke, it's just the stress from the break-up has left me a bit on edge."

Nick handed back the lighter, making sure their fingers brushed a little bit.

"Gosh you're cold!" Grace laughed, grabbing his hand rather suddenly, and feeling how chilly he was.

"You're quite warm." Nick said, pulling his hand away, afraid she'd wonder too much about his deathly cold skin.

Grace rolled her eyes and leaned against the brick wall, "Blame Irish genetics. I'm known for a lovely full-flush." She took a drag of the cigarette, sighing heavily. "I used to be absolutely addicted to these things." She wiggled the cigarette in her hand, "Then my Gran died of lung cancer and it turned me off of them. But obviously once addicted always addicted."

Nick cringed a little, but she didn't notice, she mentioned addiction which made him think of blood, which made him inhale deeply and catch that sweet smell of blood pulsing beneath her ivory, and slightly flushed, skin. He eyed her as she sipped her beer, sitting it back on the ledge and looking up at him.

"Why so silent?"

"Sorry, I was just thinking of a friend of mine who died from lung cancer as well." He laughed awkwardly, lying unbeknownst to her. He met her eyes and wondered what that dark look meant in them. Inside they looked green, but in the low light of the alley light they looked dark, and her heart-rate peaked.

Grace stepped towards him, smiling a little as she flicked the cigarette onto the pavement. He knew what she meant as she came an inch closer, he met her, lips a little frantic against hers. He hadn't kissed someone proper like this since Rachel, and God had he missed it.

He pulled Grace to him, wrapping an arm around her waist and throwing the cigarette across the the alley.

She was a great kisser, she was an even greater kisser because she was kissing _him_.

"Maybe we could go back to my place?" Nick asked hesitantly as she pressed against him a little harder, making him let out a reluctant groan.

"Yes." She laughed, with a wink, kissing him again.

~o~

Nick gasped as he woke up beside Grace, but it became quickly apparent that the cold body beside him was no longer Grace, but the shell of who she had once been. He panicked, jumping out of the bed and realizing the horror scene on his bed. Her neck ripped open, her pale skin stained blood red, her body bare, his body bare and stained with her blood.

"Oh God, Oh God." He muttered, looking down at his bloody hands. "I'm so sorry Grace, I'm so sorry."

"_I know you are." _She stood behind him, watching him freak out.

"Oh Grace!" He was crying now, the bubbling babbling fool he knew he was. He reached out to touch her now cold and faintly there cheek. "I didn't mean to. I lost control. I thought that I could. But I couldn't."

"_It's alright, I know you lost control." _A tear slipped down her cheek, a frowning marring her beautiful lips. _"The door came for me, but I shut it. I wanted to see you wake up."_

"No, no, no! You can't have missed your door for me. No - Grace! I ruined your plans." He hugged the partially caporal spirit. Stroking his fingers through her hair.

Grace nodded her head, kissing his forehead and then slowly fading away. _"There's nothing for me to hold onto here."_

"I'm so sorry Grace!" Nick cried, sinking to his knees. He was a failure. The first woman to give him notice in several decades and he killed her. He was a slave to his addiction.


End file.
